by Rick Polad
Chief started to follow her out. I stopped him. “Hang on a second, Chief.” The door closed behind Rosie. “Could you get me the neighbor’s description of the person they saw entering the agency? And see if the police have the file folder.”
“Sure.”
I hesitated. “And there’s something I need your help with.”
***
Rosie had the car waiting as they wheeled me out to the carport, and an orderly helped me into the car.
“How far are we from the hotel?” I asked.
“About fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t hit any bumps.”
In the last half hour the sunlit sky had turned dark, and it had started to rain, just a light drizzle. The dark sky helped my headache.
Rosie worked her way into traffic and asked, “Was the bump on the head worth it?”
I was silent for a few seconds, trying to remember. “I don’t know.” The rain came harder, and Rosie turned up the wipers. “I found a file with Powolski on it. I was looking at it when I was hit.” I stared out the windshield at nothing, trying to remember the file. “I hadn’t been in there very long.”
“You weren’t in there more than ten minutes before the police showed up. Too bad we didn’t have another one of these telephones… I could have warned you.”
“Sure, I’m gonna carry that damned thing around with me. Pretty useless if you asked me. Did you see anyone from the front?”
“Nope. Not until the cops showed up.” Rosie turned onto Ashland and headed north. “I felt pretty helpless, knowing they’d be surprising you. But I thought it best to let happen whatever was going to happen.”
“Absolutely. A Chicago cop driving the getaway car wouldn’t be a good thing.”
“How you feelin’, Spencer?”
“The drugs are working. It’s a seven instead of a nine on the pain scale.”
She turned right onto Dousman and in a few blocks was crossing the Fox River. The Hampton Inn was on the east side of the river just south of the river’s headwaters at Green Bay.
I was still staring at nothing out the windshield. As she turned into the hotel drive I started to remember.
“Pull over, Rosie.”
“The garage is just ahead, Spencer.”
“Pull over.” I took a notepad and a pencil out of the glove compartment and handed them to her.
She stopped on the side of the entrance to the garage and took the pad.
I closed my eyes and saw the list on the file folder. “There was a list of names. Stosh and Francine were on the tab. There were three more on the folder under the tab.” She wrote as I talked. “Harold and Carla Bell from Green Bay, Wisconsin, Benjamin and Mary Maxwell from St. Charles, Illinois, and Joe and Gretchen Frey from Appleton, Wisconsin.” I spent another thirty seconds trying to remember. “Then there was a space and another name… Victoria Petrace. There were dates, but I don’t remember them. The last thing I remember was wanting to write them down and reaching into my pocket for my notepad and a pencil.”
“That’s good, Spencer. Is that all?”
I nodded. “Yes. Let’s park.”
I was reaching for the door handle when Rosie said, “Hang on a minute, Spencer.” I turned back to her with a slight grimace. It hurt to move.
“I should know better than to ask, but…”
I took a deep breath and massaged the back of my neck. “I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t tell me what?”
“What the captain is talking about.”
“I get ‘I can’t tell you’ when you’re doing something I wouldn’t… or rather shouldn’t because of the police thing.”
“You do, yes.”
“But this is the captain.”
I nodded slowly.
She looked ahead out the windshield and then back to me. “Am I going to find out at some point?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
I shook my head but only for a second as each shake cued something to shoot pain through my head. “Rosie…”
She raised her hands. “Okay… okay. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Well, three.”
“Yes, three. I need a shower.”
As we made our way slowly to the room, I asked Rosie to call Carol and have her get addresses and information on the three couples. I left my clothes lying on the floor of the bedroom, stepped into the shower, and let hot water pour over the back of my head.
Chapter 8
After the shower and a short nap my headache was down to three or four on the scale, so we decided to walk to the brewery. It was just across the drawbridge on Main Street from the hotel. We could see the tower from our room. As we crossed the drawbridge, the old depot came into view. The tracks were gone, but there was no doubt it had been a train depot. I could easily imagine a train waiting in front. The inside was decorated with train memorabilia and several banners, including the Milwaukee Road and Chicago and Northwestern, hung from the ceiling.
Chief Iverson waved from the bar as we walked in. We weaved through the crowd and made our way to the bar. “You guys mind sitting outside?”
We didn’t.
We took one of the three open tables on the patio and looked over the beer list. A waiter arrived a couple minutes later and asked what we were drinking. They offered seasonal brews and several house beers, three of which had won medals in the Great American Beer Festival. I ordered the Boathouse Pilsner, a gold medal winner. Rosie asked questions and decided on their 400 Honey Ale. Chief already had a black German lager, a bronze medalist.
The beer arrived, and we raised our glasses.
“Easy to imagine a train depot here,” I said. “Do you know anything about the history?”
Chief wiped his mouth and set down the glass. “It goes back to the late 1800s. Green Bay was the headquarters for the Lake Shore division of the Chicago Northwestern Railroad. Lake Shore track ran from here to Milwaukee. The Peninsula 400 was a regular sight. It was a daily express between Chicago and Ishpeming on the upper peninsula. Old 209 was pretty famous around here. People would come just to see it pull in.”
“How long ago did the railroad close?”
“Early seventies.”
The waiter was back and took our orders. Rosie ordered the wood roasted chicken salad, and Chief and I ordered cheeseburgers. Chief offered a toast to Stosh, and I took a drink of the pilsner. It offered an excellent, spicy hoppy flavor with a clean finish.
I handed Chief the documents I had found under Stosh’s bed. He took in some beer while reading through them.
“Well, that raises some questions,” he said as he set his glass down.
“It does.”
“You guys have any answers?”
“Not yet,” I said. Rosie just shook her head.
“Any guesses?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I was hoping to find something at the agency, but I was interrupted.”
“Yeah, you could call it that.”
“Something odd going on there,” Rosie said.
Bells started to clang. I looked upriver and saw a large sailboat approaching as the bridge started to rise.
“I need another look in that file drawer,” I said.
Chief laughed. “If you’d like to see a jail cell from the inside, come on up and I’ll give you a tour of mine. You get caught again, and my breakfasts aren’t going to be able to help.”
I watched the ship slowly approach the bridge as I weighed the consequences.
“Changing the subject before I start to think you’re serious, the papers said Chicago cops are looking at a gang for the shooting. Anything on that?”
I was still watching the ship.
“Nothing,” Rosie said. “Lots of interviews… nobody knows anything, and everybody has an alibi.”
“Of course.”
“We’re looking for a cousin who has suddenly disappeared.”
Chief
just shook his head. “So senseless. I don’t know how you deal with the constant shootings. I couldn’t tell you the date of the last shooting we had in Door County.”
“Yeah, it’s tough dealing with those jaywalkers,” I said.
He laughed. “Once in a while we do wander down to Chicago to lend a hand.”
Rosie was looking puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
Chief Iverson had helped me catch a kidnapper in a case a few years back. It was a bit outside the rules, so he had disappeared—no one besides me and Steele ever knew he was there.
“You mind if I tell her, Chief?”
“If she’s hanging around with you, she must be used to bending the rules and looking the other way, so no, don’t mind at all.”
I finished my beer and turned to Rosie.
“Remember when I rescued Pitcher in the basement of that factory?”
“Sure.”
“Remember several people questioning my version of the story?”
“Yup. Seemed like someone else had to be in that basement.”
I nodded. “Someone else was.”
She slowly moved her eyes from me to Chief Iverson and back to me. “Well that explains a lot.” She looked back at Iverson and said, “Thanks, Chief.”
He was smiling and just nodded once, slowly and deeply. “Speaking of which, how’s Steele doing? We three made a great team.”
I looked at Rosie, whose face showed all the sadness of Steele’s suicide.
Iverson looked at Rosie and then back at me. “What? Did I miss something?”
Rosie had tears in her eyes, so I took a deep breath and told him.
“Steele comitted suicide a couple years ago.”
Iverson’s mouth opened, but there were no words.
“We were working a case involving missing kids and cornered one of the kidnappers at Riverview as he was in the process of taking another kid. He was one nasty bastard. The guy ended up on the floor with Steele standing over him. I can still see the arrogant smirk on the guy’s face. Steele leaned down and put the gun to the guy’s forehead and told him how worthless he was. The smirk didn’t disappear… he knew a cop wouldn’t pull the trigger. He was laughing at Steele.”
Iverson shook his head. “I can’t imagine the tension in that room. Was the guy found guilty?”
I thought about that. “Yeah, by a jury of one. Steele pulled the trigger.”
Iverson’s mouth was open again for several seconds before he said, “Jesus… then what?”
“While I was dealing with the guy on the floor and the kid, Steele went into a back room and killed himself.”
“I can’t imagine. Did you ever find out why?”
I nodded. “I knew why. When his son was little he was kidnapped. Steele said he was over it and had moved on, but I guess not.”
“I guess not,” Iverson said. “Maybe you never get over something like that. What a shame.”
Rosie had dried her eyes with her napkin and finished her water.
The waiter dropped off the bill, and we all left money on the table.
As we stood up, Chief told me not to do anything stupid. I said I’d try. He offered a ride back to the hotel, but it was a nice night for a walk. We parted on the sidewalk but hadn’t gone far when Chief called my name.
“Spencer, I almost forgot. The description of the person who hit you… not going to help much. Average build and short, not much more than five feet. Dark pants and a dark hooded sweatshirt.”
I nodded. “How about the file folder?”
“The police don’t have it.”
I thought about that. “I don’t know about Green Bay Police, but if I find a guy passed out on the floor with a file folder next to him, I’m taking the file as evidence.”
He agreed.
“So where’s the evidence?”
Rosie spoke up. “Are you sure you didn’t put it back in the drawer before you were hit?”
“Positive. I didn’t even get a chance to open it.”
“Then either the person who hit you put it back in the drawer, or took it, or there’s something your breakfast buddy isn’t sharing with you, Chief.”
He shook his head. “It’s not the third.”
“Okay,” I said, “but why would it be the first or second?”
Iverson slapped me on the shoulder. “That’s why you get the big bucks, kid. Good luck finding out.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
He waved goodbye over his shoulder as he walked away.
***
As we neared the bridge we passed the edge of the last building and saw our hotel lit up with multi-colored floodlights. I stopped halfway across the bridge and leaned on the railing. Rosie put her arm around my waist, and I pulled her closer. We watched the boat lights on the river for a few minutes before she spoke up.
“You’re going back to the agency, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I’d sure like to have a look in that folder.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that. I also know when the best time to do that is.”
“By tomorrow they’ll have someone changing the locks and putting on deadbolts and installing an alarm system. Who’d expect another break-in the next night?”
“Me.”
“Well, luckily you’re not running the agency.”
A large boat with a fly bridge barely cleared the bridge. I thought it was going to hit.
“Spencer, how do you think the first person got in?”
I shrugged. “Either picked the lock or the door was open.”
“The second isn’t very likely.”
“No, probably not. But it’s a simple lock. Would only take a little skill to pick it.”
“For you, but that’s not a skill most people have. So what’s our plan?”
“My plan is I’m heading back after midnight. You’re staying at the hotel and getting some sleep. You have a career at stake.”
She was quiet for a minute. “As much as I hate to agree with you, I agree with you. But I’m not going to get any sleep. What’s the rest of your plan?”
I laughed. “I’ll let you know after I come up with one.”
She didn’t laugh. “I’m a little chilly. Let’s head back.”
***
I waited until two, took the rental car, and parked a block away in a lot next to a hardware store that had three other cars in it. Since there was obviously someone up late in a house on the alley, I had decided to chance the front door. It had a more sophisticated lock than the alley door, but it only took me thirty seconds to get in.
I went right to the file drawer with Stosh’s file. It was gone. Not long after I started in this business, I found out that the reason something didn’t make sense was that I didn’t have the facts. Once I found them, every case had made perfect sense. I just had to put together the pieces of the puzzle. But first I had to find the pieces. Why would someone take it? I had pieces to find.
As I was about to close the drawer, I thought they may have misfiled it in their hurry to leave, so I thumbed through the whole drawer. It wasn’t there. The single name under the three names on Stosh’s folder was Victoria Petrace. I had given some thought to the filing system and thought Petrace might be the birth mother. So I pulled open the “Birth Mother” drawer and looked for a Petrace file. I didn’t find one. Maybe the names meant something else.
I felt like I was pushing my luck but wanted to take a look at Mrs. Peters’ file and opened the employee drawer. The file was there. And right behind it was a file for Victoria Petrace. I jotted down some information from Peters’ file. She’d been with the company since 1979, first name Cynthia. I got her address and home phone.
Victoria’s file was more interesting. She had been hired in 1982 and let go in February of this year. It didn’t say why. Specifically, it said “separated.” I got her address too. It was in Green Bay.
As I was closing the drawer I had another thought. Stosh
’s file had the names of three couples under the tab. Beneath that was Victoria Petrace. I thought for a few seconds and remembered the first names, Harold and Carla Bell. Given enough time, I probably could have remembered the others, but I didn’t have to.
I pulled open the “Adopting Family” drawer and didn’t have to look hard for Bell… it was the first one. “Bell, Harold and Carla” was on the tab. On the folder, under the tab, were three names. One of them was Stanley and Francine Powolski. Petrace’s name was under the list. I didn’t want to take time to think about it… I needed to leave. I had passed my comfort level for being somewhere I didn’t belong about when I had found Victoria’s file.
I made sure everything was the way I had found it and walked into the hall and listened. Quiet. I looked both ways out the picture window and saw no cars. I stepped outside, made sure the door closed behind me, and listened again. Nothing but the quiet of three in the morning. I liked that peaceful window, the time between the humans going to sleep and the birds waking up.
***
I parked and entered the hotel through the convention center to avoid the lobby and took the stairs up to the fifth floor. Rosie had said she’d be up waiting, but I quietly opened the door. She was sitting in the chair in front of the windows… sound asleep. No boats on the river. I touched her shoulder, and she slowly opened her eyes. She smiled, stood up, and put her arms around me. I returned the favor.
“Glad to see you. No trouble?”
“No trouble.”
“Find anything?”
“Yup.”
“Tell me about it in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”
“Right behind you.”
Chapter 9
The phone woke me up at a little before ten. I heard Rosie answer it in the main room. I washed up and got dressed. Rosie was looking out the windows in a room full of sunshine.
“Good morning, Mr. Blaine.”
I smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Blaine.”
“Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“There are rolls and coffee in the kitchenette, or we can go down to the restaurant.”
I joined her in front of the window and wrapped my arms around her from behind.